


Perfection

by HelloItsTrash



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, POV Outsider, Viktor with a K, otabek is too cool for america, sorta high school au, viktor and yuuri are married and cute, yuri is really pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloItsTrash/pseuds/HelloItsTrash
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky was perfect and it wasn't fucking fair.





	Perfection

Yuri Plisetsky was perfect, and it wasn't fair.

He showed up at our school one day, and easily established himself as someone who is a blessing to look at, but not someone you should cross. He may look like he waltzed out of a fashion magazine, but he could (and would) stab you with his four inch stilettos.

He had a horrible mouth and a worse temper, but that didn't stop him from being the most beautiful bastard alive. He could glare at you (which was bad enough) and tell you off with that sharp tongue of his, all while exuding pure grace and poise. The worst part? Most of the students would thank him.

He almost never showed up for class, usually attending school for part of the day, but still manages to ace the tests. Some people think he's a genius, others (like me) know he's gotta be cheating. Right?

Whatever.

Yuri Plisetsky's perfection had nothing to do with me.

At least it didn't until our WHAP teacher paired us up for a project on the Cold War.

"I can write the Russian half, while you tackle the American. Might as well stick to what we know, right?" Yuri proposed, tying up his long, silky, blonde hair.

That's another thing: why was Yuri attending an American school? He says he still technically lives in Russia, and that he's not a foreign exchange student, so why?

"Uh, yeah, that works for me. The project isn't due for a month, but getting the PowerPoint done as soon as possible would make life easier, y'know?"

"I can't do any extra work until next week, but after that it shouldn't take me long. I might not be able to present with you, but nothing is concrete when Viktor is planning things." Yuri rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by this 'Viktor' (whoever that was). He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "Here's my email. Send me the PowerPoint when you're done with it, and I'll finish it up." Yuri started shoving his things into his bag, talking as he moved. "I have to leave in, like, two seconds, but, yeah."

"Sounds like a plan?"

The blonde nodded, waved to the teacher to let her know he was leaving, then... left. He left like he owned the damn place.

Not even a minute later, attendance called him down.

~

"You lucky motherfucker," Erin breathed lovingly with all the sweetness of a best friend. " _Yuri Plisetsky_ is your partner? You have a valid excuse to look at his gorgeous ass face. _You lucky motherfucker_."

Erin was yet another victim of the Plisetsky Effect. They were enchanted by Yuri's sharp tongue and even sharper jawline.

"He said he can't work on the project for another week, and even then he might not show up for the presentation. That's kinda shitty," I retorted, hoping that Erin could see that I am in no way lucky, motherfucker or otherwise.

"You know he has a busy schedule!"

"Doing what? No one knows anything about him. He could be a part of the mafia for all we know."

"Don't be racist, Ellie."

"That was unintentional, I swear. Whatever, point is, he could be slacking and I'm not gonna take that! I'm fine with doing my part first, but if he doesn't show up I'm gonna be pissed."

Yuri Plisetsky may be the most gorgeous human being alive, but that won't stop me from telling him off. For now, I'll just have to take my anger out on my lunch.

~

So, remember all that shit I was saying about Yuri being the most gorgeous human being alive? Yeah, I was fucking wrong.

Three days after The Partnership began, a guy with a bike - a goddamn motorcycle - started showing up at the end of the day in front of the school. He didn't do much besides look _fucking amazing_ and wait. Wait for who? No idea. Some said they saw Bianca Doyle talking to him, but Bianca herself refused to acknowledge these sightings. No one approached the stranger, probably because we peasants are no match for a literal _Greek god_.

I mean, really, how is this fair?

~

Presentation Day came, and (surprise surprise) Yuri did not.

I groaned internally, not even mad anymore, just tired. I pulled out my note cards, shuffling them then sorting them, to keep my hands busy. If they were idle I'd just get back into my old habit of picking at the dead skin on my lips (note to self: get chap stick).

The door burst open, and with it came the beautiful bastard himself. Yuri doubled over, his breaths labored.

"I'm going to kill him," he gasped out. "That damn old man...." He rose to his full height, eyeing the teacher. "Practice ran long."

And with no other explanation, he sat his ass in his seat and waited for our turn.

Yuri was surprisingly professional. He had one of those 'speaking voices' that celebrities who do a lot of interviews have.

Needless to say, we fucking nailed it.

~

Erin was dying and it wasn't even my fault. They found out the sexy stranger’s name is Otabek Altin, so naturally they googled him. From what they gathered from his Wikipedia page, he’s a world class athlete and that’s really not fair because I can barely do a push up. I mean, Erin has no idea what kind of athlete, but I don’t know what I expected.

“He’s from Kazakhstan, and, according to his twitter and google translate, he’s here in America with three other athletes to train for the next competition because it’s the off season. Holy shit, Elliotte, God is smiling down on me, I swear.”

“That’s great, Erin, but do you know anything else besides he’s out of everyone’s - earth, heaven, and hell - league?” I asked, stabbing at my salad.

“Do you need to know anything else?”

“I dunno, dick size?”

“ELLIOTTE, THIS IS SERIOUS!”

“I am serious!” Erin angrily bit into their sandwich, unamused. “Ok, but actually though, does it matter?”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Ellie, he’s a celebrity. His whole career is online somewhere.”

“But what if he wasn’t?”

Erin paused, furrowed their brow, and then said, “That’s fair...”

We finished our lunch, shifting the topic of conversation to whatever crime drama Erin happened to obsess themselves with.

I couldn’t deny my own curiosity, but Otabek Altin was a human being that deserved his privacy just like everyone else. We should just leave him alone.

~

Okay, I need to know everything about this Altin guy, now.

I was staying late after school to take a test I missed, and who do I see but Yuri Plisetsky walk out the front doors ahead of me. When I was walking past him to student parking, he called out to me.

Me.

“Hey, Elliotte, right?”

I stopped short, not sure if I heard right. I turned around, and hummed to show I was listening.

“When is the physics lab report due?”

“Uh, Friday at the end of class.”

Yuri nodded in thanks, then waved and walked off. Altin was parked to the left of the school entrance (the opposite direction from where I was going). Yuri took the helmet held out to him, and climbed onto the back of the bike. The two drove off, blond holding brunet.

So, long story short: Yuri and Otabek Altin know each other and I’m so mad.

~

Just when everyone thought that Yuri Plisetsky couldn’t get any more unbelievable our crazy ass WHAP teacher decided we were going to do yoga in the hallways. We were studying India, so clearly this was something we should be spending our time on.

We were all handed a packet with various positions that looked like they would snap my limbs off. I’m the exact opposite of flexible, so I’d resigned myself to death pretty early on.

But Yuri.

Yuri fucking Plisetsky.

He was given a different packet of much harder positions. He flipped through it, rolled his eyes, and sighed. He stood, cracked his neck, then did a standing split.

I mean... what the fuck? Who even is this guy?!

But it didn’t stop there, oh no. Yuri wasn’t done. He did - what I later learned - was called a side crane. Basically a handstand with his legs tucked under his body and resting on an elbow.

Then some mystic bullshit called a kapotasana happened and I realized something very, very painful.

My arm has never been so numb. But also that Yuri Plisetsky can do fucking everything.

I’ve never been so mad.

~

Only an American public school would let PE take us on a field trip. I looked down at the permission slip, unamused. An ice skating rink? I mean, really? Whatever, at least I don’t have to go to class.

Yuri took one look at the paper, and promptly banged his head against his desk, which was weird.

~

Our physics teach Mr. Rollater had a very strict policy about phones. His big rule that made him famous was “If a phone rings in class, the owner has to answer on speaker.”  
Lo and behold, one day, in the middle of a lecture, a phone rings. We all scanned the room, looking for the victim. Yuri.

Of course it would be Yuri, right?

Mr. Rollater nodded at him. The blond groaned at the contact name, but answered anyways. Almost immediately, a female voice speaking in rapid fire Russian filled the room. Yuri looked bored and annoyed.

“Mila,” he tried. Nothing. “Mila.” Nothing. “MILA!” The woman - Mila - stopped talking. “заткнись, я в классе.”

There was a pause, then the two exchanged a few more words, then Yuri hung up.

“What was that about?” Mr. Rollater asked.

“Work stuff.” Was Yuri’s tired response.

Mr. Rollater just nodded again, and went back to his lecture. I swear, this kid can get away with anything.

~

Yuri actually showed up to school on field trip day. The beautiful bastard had his hair tied up and was wearing tight workout gear that was doing things to Erin. They grabbed my arm, burying their face in my shoulder.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask him out?” I supplied, far too used to my best friend doing this shit.

“I don’t want to date him, I just want to look at him. And maybe touch his hair.”

“That’s creepy.”

“I know, and I’ve made peace with it.”

I tried to change the subject while still staying on topic. “What do you think is in that duffle bag Yuri’s got?”

Yuri was sitting four rows ahead of Erin and I on the bus. We were all packed in two to a seat, but because of the duffle bag Yuri got to sit alone, which isn’t fair.

“Lunch?” Erin guessed.

I rolled my eyes. “You can be more creative than that.”

“Okay. Um... Jello.”

I snorted. “A duffle bag of jello, huh? Wanna do a take two?”

Erin repositioned themselves on my arm, their cheek now resting comfortably on my shoulder. “Three changes of clothes. Y’know how pretty people are. I bet there’s also a brush in there. Gotta keep that hair pretty somehow.”

“What is it with you and Yuri Plisetsky’s hair?” I asked, clicking my tongue.

Erin shrugged. “It looks soft.”

It was then that the blond in question turned in his seat and called back, “Oi, Elliotte. Do you know how to French braid?”

I’m now convinced that Yuri only talks to me because I’m one of the few names he knows. “I don’t, sorry, but Erin does.” Erin tensed next to me.

“You any good?” Yuri asked, eyebrow raised.

Erin nodded, words escaping them. I switched seats with Yuri, and watched as my best friend came two inches from a nervous breakdown. Their hands shook a little, but their voice betrayed nothing. The pair talked easily (though the blond carried the conversation), and soon enough every hair was pulled back in rather pretty braid.

“Damn. You should braid my hair more often,” Yuri noted, studying Erin’s handiwork in his phone camera. “You’re as good as Lilia.”

He angled his phone for the perfect selfie in the bullshit lighting from the window, and smiled at Erin.

“Mind if I post this on Instagram? I’ll credit you,” Yuri asked.

Now, my best friend was basically dying at this point, so you can imagine what they did. They stuttered, blushed, typed in their username, and died a little more.

Yuri and I switched places again (when I passed him, I smiled gratefully. I think he got my message), and Erin promptly grabbed my arm in a circulation-cutting hug.

“You good?” I asked, back in high spirits.

“It was so soft...”

I laughed lightly, carding my fingers through Erin’s hair. “I know. I know.”

Okay, maybe Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t so bad.

~

This motherfucker needs to die.

Okay, so we walk into the skating rink, right? No big deal. Then, Yuri walks right up to some guy with silver hair and starts speaking in the most demonic mix of languages (Russian, English, and Japanese) I’ve ever heard. Yuri set his duffle bag on a nearby bench, pulled out a pair of skates, and started stretching. A dark haired man smiled sweetly at us, and called our attention.

“Hi everyone! My name is Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, and this is my husband Viktor.” Viktor waved, and I was left to wonder why everyone Yuri knows is so pretty. “We’ll get you guys fitted with some skates, then you can get out on the ice!”

Turns out ice skates are supposed to be tight and hurt a little. Erin wasn’t having it, but put up with it anyway. The managers (owners?) talked easily with Yuri, who scowled every so often, or yelled what I could only assume were Russian curses. Classic Yuri.

So, the class gets out on the ice, and just about all of us are going to be dealing with some pretty nasty bruises.

And Yuri is still stretching.

Viktor spent a good twenty minutes getting us to at least be able to move. Once Erin and I could walk (pretty clumsily I might add) I shot a glance over at Yuri, who was now doing lazy figure eights while Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov (because trying to separate the two Yuris in my head is hard) spoke with Viktor. The husbands switched places, so now Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was showing us the basics.

But this isn’t even the half of it. A door to what I assume is a locker room opened, and out he walked: the Greek god. Yuri lit up instantly when he saw Otabek Altin, skating over and leaning his forearms against the wall. The two exchanged a few words, then a quick kiss, which was met with maybe six screams and a collective gasp. Otabek blushed, and hid is face from our class. Yuri smirked and stuck his tongue out at all the jealous faces (who they were for was a toss-up).

The loving couple skated out to one half of the rink, while the rest of us were herded off to the other half.

“Yurio and Otabek have practice right now, so we have to divide up the space. I hope that’s okay,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov explained. We all nodded.

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!” Yuri yelled.

“He’s learning a new routine right now, so he’s a bit wound up. Thanks for putting up with him.”

Routine?

Practice?

The dots were starting to connect.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called. “Why don’t we have them watch Yurio - sorry, _Yuri_ \- and Otabek’s exhibition routine?”

“We haven’t perfected that yet,” Otabek protested.

“They’re right, dear, just let them practice their quads.” It was easy to see who the mediator was.

Yuri and Otabek took turns doing the most bizarrely beautiful jumps I’ve ever seen. One after another after another, the two spun and flipped and did shit that would kill me if I tried.

Viktor called us all off the ice, Otabek included. He said something to Yuri in their weird franken-language, then started fiddling with his phone and a speaker. Yuri skated to center rink, posing gracefully. When the music started, so did the skater. He moved with such poise and power that I could hardly believe that this was the same guy I sit next to in WHAP.

Except I could because Yuri Plisetsky is a beautiful bastard that can do literally anything. Including making Erin cry obnoxiously into my sleeve.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ellie, I can’t stop crying. I want to see stuff like this for the rest of my life,” they declared.

“I’m sure you can find some routines on YouTube,” I supplied, pulling Erin into a comforting side hug.

“He’s just so pretty...”

“He is, isn’t he?”

Erin and I jumped at a ghost voice neither of us had ever heard before. Otabek looked at us, his face blank, but something warm was in his eyes.

“If you really want to cry, watch Yura skate Agape at the Grand Prix Final in 2016. To recover, watch his exhibition skate to Welcome to the Madness. That routine has a good story behind it.”

Erin nodded, drying their tears.

“You were actually crying? Fuck, Erin, do you need to take five?” I asked, feeling like a shitty friend.

“I’m fine. You know how emotional I get at stuff like this.”

Otabek looked between Erin and me, a knowing look in his eyes. I narrowed my own, challenging him to say anything. He shrugged, then went to greet Yuri at the wall’s opening.

In conclusion, Yuri Plisetsky is a world class figure skater with more awards than I’ll ever dream of having, and literally no one could figure that out.

What a fuck of a situation.

~

The caption on Yuri’s Instagram picture read as follows:

**Class field trip to my own rink**

**Silver lining: @nb.posi is fucking fantastic and French braiding. They should do it more often**

Erin and Yuri were both tagged in the selfie. He followed them shortly after posting, and me later that night. Otabek followed suit.

Yeah, these guys weren’t so bad.

~

Yuri Plisetsky was perfect, and it wasn’t fair.

He left our school one day, and easily established himself as someone who was painful to watch leave, but not someone who would just fade away. He may look like a slender fashion model, but he’s actually a decorated figure skater with a world record.

He had a bright smile and an even brighter future, but that didn’t stop him from being just as human as the rest of us. He could work with you on a project and put up with all kinds of American bullshit, all while making his dreams come true. The best part? He was a really good friend of mine.

He almost never showed up for class, usually attending school for part of the day because of practice, but still managed to study and ace the tests. Some people think he's a genius, others (like me) know he's just a hard worker.

Anyway.

Yuri Plisetsky’s perfection never bothered me. He was the pretty blond kid that I sat next to in WHAP, and shared a table with at lunch. He was the guy that cursed in four different languages, and told funny stories. He was the guy that I once hated, but became one of my closest friends.

He was Yuri, and it was that simple fact that made him perfect.

Erin was right. I am one lucky motherfucker.

**Author's Note:**

> edit: i fixed up the formating


End file.
